The Courtship
by Bellantry
Summary: Cutler Beckett sets his cap on winning the hand of the King's illegitimate daughter. Is his pursuit a mere gambit to consolidate power and forge alliances or does he have genuine feelings for her?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: I have always been intrigued by Cutler Beckett and wondered what sort of woman he might marry and if he had to resort to trickery or even blackmail to win her over. Just a bit of history, King George I. of England did have a long time mistress and three illegitimate daughters with her. Charlotte is a figment of my imagination and an addition to the three real daughters; I have also indicated all three daughters were married at the time of the story though one was not. I'm hoping to capture Beckett's deliciously sensual nature as well as his distinctively naughtiness and adoration of all things business. Please leave a review and let me know how I'm doing.

* * *

_But if I love you, if I love you, keep guard of yourself! - Georges Bizet_

* * *

**_Diary of Lady Charlotte Beckett, June 8, 1809_**

_The first time I ever laid eyes on Cutler Beckett, I was only sixteen years old. Even those of royal blood can be cowed as I most certainly was. Spring sunshine has always proved to be alluring to me in the most wondrous, indescribable ways; I have dropped every practical duty all my life in the pursuit of sunshine, cool, fresh breezes, and the fertile beauty of a garden in bloom. So it was on that day, the day that my life was forever altered in meeting a short, arrogant man ten years my senior in age and four inches my junior in height. Although Cutler's penchant for powdered wigs and large hats did wonders for the illusion of greater stature…_

_Where was I? Alas, my mind these days has a tendency to wander hither and dither. Ah yes, Spring at Hampton Court, seat of King George of Hanover and Great Britain._

_There are so many tales to tell of Beckett and his lust for power, but I believe it only proper to start at the beginning…_

* * *

**_Hampton Court, May 2nd, 1725_**

Golden sunshine was raining down on the royal gardens like warm, sweet honey fresh from the comb; the scent of hyacinth and violets perfumed the breeze. The very air was alive – bees buzzing happily as they flew from blossom to blossom, bird song filling the ears of all, pleasant murmurings of the gardeners and courtiers alike.

My three elder sisters were all married so I was left, for the most part, to my own devices. My father, His Majesty King George, and my mother, Duchess of Kendal, spent most of their time dealing with matters of state or entertaining their German courtiers. Father was the ruler of Hanover and only through a complicated line of succession did he come to rule England. My mother was his longtime mistress and mother to his four illegitimate daughters and one time lady in waiting to his former wife.

His Highness spoke limited English and did not care much for this gloomy, overcast country; the fact the majority of the English nobles mocked father mercilessly for his German mannerisms and thick Hanoverian accent only added to his disdain. Even mother was poked fun of – referred to as a stick and a crow.

Falling into a steady pace, I cleared the main gardens and headed toward the medieval herb gardens which Henry VIII had planted for Anne Boleyn. The tantalizing odor of meadowsweet and primrose delicately perfumed the air and made my head almost swim with delight. More often than not, the inside of the palace reeked of unwashed bodies, the stench of overused perfume and cologne, urine, and occasionally feces when the maids were especially pressed for time. The palace back in Hanover wasn't much better – this had led me to develop my love of the great outdoors.

Passing several strolling couples, I relaxed as I made the realization I was finally alone.

Few English courtiers were granted access to His Highness and rightfully so. One family which did indeed receive father's attention was the Beckett's. They were among the few nobles in this country who treated my parents with respect, dignity, and honor. The Beckett's were old blood and could trace their ancestry back to William the Conqueror and Henry the IV.

The Beckett's held the Duchy of Blackthorn, Marquisate of Sandham, and title of Viscount of Westleigh – all illustrious titles to be sure and an abundance of rich lands as well. The Beckett's did not squander their resources as many nobles did and possessed a fortune comparable to that of the Crown itself.

Charles Beckett, Duke of Blackthorn, was elderly and soon be passing his title along to his only son, Lord John, Marquis of Sandham. Lord John in turn had three sons of his own: Henry, Viscount of Westleigh, Lord Thomas, Admiral in the Royal Navy, and last, but not least, The Honorable Cutler Beckett.

He was an ambitious man and pursued whatever he wanted with a vigor and single minded determination that was quite shocking to behold. Cutler, as the youngest son, held no title, but had graduated from Cambridge with high honors thanks to his keen intellect and uncanny perception of human nature. I found him to be frightening on several levels.

The fact Mister Beckett often sought out my company at my parents balls set my nerves on edge. Due to my mother's extraordinary fondness for me, perhaps because I was her youngest child, my parents had only just started serious marital considerations on my behalf.

I yearned to remain unattached – retaining the ability to come and go to the library and the gardens as I pleased. I was aware that Mister Beckett's attentions could end my solitary pursuits and small freedoms.

Twisting carefully, I pulled free a sprig of mint and inhaled the invigorating, fresh aroma.

Without title, Beckett had instead built himself an enormous fortune of his own by accepting a job with the East India Trade Company. Unpleasant rumors of treachery, dishonesty, and blatant profiteering dogged the youngest Beckett's every step.

Passing a thick grouping of cedar hedges, I found myself face to face with the recent object of my thoughts. My heart dropped into the region of my knees and it was only my mother's constant lectures on civility and decorum that kept me from turning on heel and fleeing immediately.

"Mister Beckett," I managed to murmur in strangled English.

Cutler Beckett was dressed immaculately in fine deep, forest green brocade with a matching hat and polished black leather boots. He indeed wore a powdered wig, as was fashion, and had an older, rather frightening man to his left. The unknown man was dressed all in black, sans wig which marked him as hailing from the lower classes, with a craggy face and inscrutable dark eyes.

He smiled and his normally cold blue-grey eyes warmed just a bit. "My Lady von der Schulenburg, how delightful to make your acquaintance once more. I trust you are enjoying the fine weather."

True sunny, warm days were few and far between in this curious land – Hanover was blessed with more sun than this small island nation.

Beckett's words were smooth and seemed harmless enough; yet I knew myself to be in a situation which could deteriorate rapidly. I was without a chaperone – a young woman of good breeding was never seen in public, much less the company of an unrelated male, without her chaperone.

My face grew warm under Beckett's unrelenting gaze. "Yes," I reverted to German without a thought as my nerves got the better of me. "The weather is most agreeable, Mister Beckett. I decided for that very reason a turn here in the gardens would be a pleasant diversion."

"Alone?" Beckett asked pointedly; his dark eyebrows rose.

"I…" Voice breaking, I twisted my hands together; tender mint leaves tearing and staining my fingers green. I allowed my eyes to wander from the English courtier and his companion to search the grounds around us. Sadly, we were very much alone and I had no hope of polite escape from his company. "Yes."

Beckett chuckled. "How very bold of you, milady, to buck accepted social customs! While I find your actions amusing, I daresay your sire and dame will be less than delighted." He was speaking German fluently to my surprise. "It would be my pleasure and honor to escort you inside."

Deep down, I longed to object and continue on my way; logically I knew this to be folly. He would be duty bound to report my wanderings to the King should I remain alone. My accidental escort was behaving with great chivalry in guarding my reputation.

I gazed at him, resplendent as His Highness himself, only to find those piercing grey-blue eyes locked on me. A shiver ran through me, though I repressed it, as I was suddenly reminded of the tale of Hades and Persephone.

With his perfectly coiffed and powdered wig, flawless garb, and smelling of sandalwood and musk – Cutler Beckett looked as far from the gloomy Hades as was the sun from the moon. While his bright eyes and pleasing manners spoke more of the ancient Apollo, albeit a miniature version, his aura carried a darkness which set me on edge.

I was no Persephone.

My elder sisters were all luminous beauties while I had little to recommend me to a potential suitor aside from my connections. Painfully thin, with few pleasing curves, with a mass of hair so pale it was very nearly white; just a kiss of gold warmed it and only a dusting of powder was needed instead of the wigs the ladies donned. My face was plain with only a pure complexion to give me any distinction at all. My eyes had once been described by a brother-in-law as deep, dark chambers of a midnight sky with all the cold to be found within.

My mother despaired of ever finding me a husband she and His Highness didn't have to bribe – she had no such problem with Anna, Petronilla, or even the irritable Margarethe.

_*Ahem*_

The sound of a man clearing his throat startled me back to reality.

I managed a tremulous smile. "Thank you for your kindness, Mister Beckett."

He stepped closer and offered me his elbow as any good gentleman should. "Shall we, Lady von der Schulenburg?"

I nodded and settled my hand into the crook of his elbow. Shockingly, I discovered Beckett felt like a blazing kiln.

Beckett strolled as though in no hurry at all – thoroughly enjoying the exquisite beauty of Hampton Court's gardens. The man in black trailing us by several paces was utterly silent and met my gaze so evenly that I hurried to face forward again. We traveled no more than fifty paces when my companion began to speak.

"How do you enjoy your new home?"

In truth, I spent more time at my mother's estate in Middlesex than my father's London palace. Frankly, I preferred the solitude of Kendal House and the freedoms of the countryside to the prying eyes of the royal court.

"Do you wish me to be truthful or merely flatter you?" I asked in heavily accented English.

Beckett had been kind enough to address me in German earlier – I had the absurd urge to prove to him that I wasn't as ignorant as some might believe.

He merely smiled serenely. "I prefer honesty over senseless flattery, Milady."

Nodding, I faced forward. "You are a wise man, Mister Beckett. My preference is for Hanover – it is the land of my birth so I'm biased."

"Perhaps you might one day change your mind," Beckett stated thoughtfully. "Britannia has many beauties to recommend her."

"I fear my parents are in search of a suitable groom for me from the German nobility. I believe my sojourn in your country will prove to be brief."

Mister Beckett glanced at me; a slyness in his gaze which set me on my guard. "Did not your elder sister, Lady Petronilla, marry into a renowned English family?"

"My sisters are known for the beauty, Mister Beckett, and I am not. My father will most likely exert his influence back in Hanover to find me a husband." I frowned.

"You do not seem pleased at the prospect of marriage."

"Forgive my distaste, Mister Beckett, it is not a slur against the masculine sex. I had hoped to share at least some input in choosing my future spouse. Domestic happiness is really all a woman has to comfort her in this life as she has little power."

"Such is the way of the world, Lady von der Schulenburg."

"A pity is it not?"

Beckett chuckled softly. "I believe you are the most opinionated woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet. A rare delight among the inbred chits presented at court every year that have no other thought in their addled brains than winning an earl or perhaps a duke for themselves."

The intimacy of the conversation occurred to me and I blushed deeply. Not only was I alone with a man unrelated to me… I was confiding long held beliefs and thoughts to him. Such liberties were not taken by decent women; I cringed at what he probably thought of me.

To my surprise, he remained looking at the palace with a placid expression.

"I trust the nature of our conversation will remain between the two of us, sir."

Beckett patted the back of my hand softly and rather chastely. "Discretion, dear lady, is one of my specialties."

Despite Mister Beckett's assurance, I was not comforted.


	2. Chapter 2

Mister Cutler Beckett proved as good as his word and left me outside my mother's private drawing room. There was a spark of humor in his eyes as he waggled a finger at me as though I were a very naughty little girl. "Try to behave and observe all the social conventions," he advised in a low drawl. "You are lucky, Lady von der Schulenburg, that it was Mister Mercer and I who discovered you. Another man with less than honorable intentions may have caused you harm and gained leverage against His Highness through you. I hope you will have a chaperone for your next jaunt through the gardens."

Mister Mercer, up to this point gloomy and silent, spoke. "Aye," he affirmed with his thick accent. "T'would have been a great pity to see such a fine lady as yourself sullied."

My face reddened with embarrassment. "Thank you both for your concern."

Beckett inclined his head slightly. "No thanks are needed, Lady von der Schulenburg, as I merely carried out my duty to His Highness." Those piercing eyes of his pinned me like a butterfly under glass. "I should like to call upon you and the Duchess of Kendal when convenient so I may partake further of your rather charming conversational skills."

I hesitated only for a moment; urged to answer by the sound of skirts rustling nearby. "I would be honored, Mister Beckett." I wasn't so sure receiving the man's attentions was a good idea, but I could now see one of my mother's maids fast approaching.

"Mister Mercer will arrange a time with your mother's secretary." Cutler Beckett backed away from me smoothly and headed down the corridor toward my father's private apartments. The stoic Mercer followed quietly behind.

* * *

"Milady?"

I jumped at the soft voice addressing me and was faced with none other than Rosaline, a long time servant of Mother's and her favorite. She was perhaps forty with a face that was fair and filled with the golden graces of good German lineage. Lines were just beginning to show around her eyes and mouth; touches of white threading through the still vibrant chestnut of her locks.

"Yes, Rosaline?" I knew my blush would indicate guilt of some sort and only prayed she hadn't heard the conversation between Beckett and myself.

"Her Ladyship has been asking for you," Rosaline stated. "I was worried we would need to send some of the maids to search the gardens. Would you care for tea?"

I despised tea and my expression must have relayed my distaste as Rosaline broke into hearty laughter.

Rosaline opened the doors to the drawing room and ushered me inside. "I shall bring you coffee and some of those almond cookies you love so much."

"Too much dessert and Lotte will be as big as a horse!" A slightly hoarse, merry voice cried out. "Bring us some of those God awful cucumber dainties the Countess of Davenport marvels over."

Rosaline nodded. "Yes ma'am, at once."

The ornate, paneled doors were shut and I was left alone with the woman who had born me. Taller than even I, with a mass of coal-colored curls, delicate features which inspired awe from men and jealousy from women, and exotic blue eyes the shade of sapphires – my mother was a jewel among ladies.

Beautiful, intelligent, accomplished, possessing a sarcastic wit; Melusina von der Schulenburg, Duchess of Kendal was a force of nature. None dared oppose her will, my own father, King of two countries, adored her and gave her free reign in all domestic affairs. He even consulted her from time to time on state matters, but this was a secret to all but the immediate family.

Sheathed in an elaborate silk gown of deep blue, with sapphires and gold dripping from her neck and wrists, the Duchess of Kendal stood looking out the large windows across the room. "You were in the gardens unaccompanied again."

I knew better than to lie. The Duchess could ferret out a liar in no time at all and the consequences for such behavior were not pleasant. "Indeed I was in the gardens, ma'am."

She tapped the window pane once before turning. "Dangerous, Lotte, to be without a chaperone here at court. There are many of the Englishmen who would trample your innocence underfoot to gain influence with His Majesty."

"I shall be bartered off so what difference does it make?" I asked bitterly.

Shaking her head, the Duchess sat on a pale rose settee and indicated I take one of the matching chairs across from her. "I will be sure that the man your father chooses will be neither cruel nor lacking in any of the manners expected. However, if you continue to be foolish, I may not be able to arrange a comfortable situation for you, my child."

My frown gave way to a sigh. "I'm sorry, Mother, you're right." I still did not agree, but she was a very wise woman and it was prudent to listen to her counsel. "Still, the ambition you display can be distressing."

"True," she laughed. "I can admit my shortcomings as well, little one. Perhaps I've pushed you to hard recently. You are still young and fresh – matrimony can be arranged for a later age I think."

"I have a confession…" I stopped and bit my lip; nervous and unsure how to proceed.

The Duchess raised one eyebrow imperiously. "Did I not raise you properly, Lotte? Always be forthright in your dealings and the result cannot be anything but outstanding."

I fiddled with a rosette on my gown. "I was escorted back to the palace by one of father's courtiers."

My mother's face became stone. "Indeed? Which gentleman accompanied you?" She knew as well as I that my future was dependent on my answer.

While the thought of dishonesty fleetingly occurred to me – I knew better than to try perfidy. The truth was going to come out anyway when Mister Beckett's man arranged for a meeting with my mother and I. Drawing in a deep breath, I stiffened my spine.

"Mister Beckett."

She hummed softly; her expression never changed. "Are you speaking of the Duke of Blackthorn's grandson? The Honorable Cutler Beckett?"

"Yes, ma'm."

The storm I had been expecting never erupted; instead the Duchess of Kendal's brow remained smooth. She allowed her slim fingers to drum against the edge of the settee as she spoke. "Ah well, the situation could be much worse. Mister Beckett and his family are quite respectable and in very good standing with His Highness." Mother's eyes were shrewd and I wasn't entirely certain I cared for the sparkle I found there. "Of course, I must inform your father of this faux pas."

Rosaline entered and deposited a tray on the low table between the settee and chairs. Fine porcelain cups and a teapot, rimmed in gold, painted with flawless roses dominated the tray. Tiny, crustless sandwiches filled with cucumbers and horseradish spread, were arranged in a pleasing display along with a single almond cookie.

She handed me a cup filled with strong black coffee. "I hope you will be pleased, Lady Charlotte."

I took a sip and smiled. "Perfect, Rosaline, as always."

Immediately, she saw to my mother's comfort before withdrawing from the room.

Mother sighed as she sipped her tea. "Lady Davenport will be visiting us tomorrow morning, Lotte, and I expect you to be on your best behavior."

A sigh escaped my throat. "Delightful."

"Duty over pleasure," The Duchess intoned gravely. "I should not need to remind you of this. Had you kept in mind your duty, Lotte, we would not be in the position we find ourselves in after your escapade in the garden."

My face reddened. "Mister Beckett was a perfect gentleman and Mister Mercer was also present. Nothing untoward happened, I can assure you."

"Regardless of your purity and Mister Beckett's admirable manners, if anyone saw you with him lacking a chaperone, I suspect gossip of a less than truthful nature will spread through court." Mother set down her teacup. "The fact that Mister Mercer was also present would not be enough to save your reputation, my dear. Mercer is a hired man from the lower classes and as such, his testimony would be suspect."

I held my tongue and tried to enjoy my coffee.

* * *

The next few days were routine; no wagging tongues surfaced in regard to my unchaperoned stroll with Beckett. His Highness hadn't addressed the issue with me yet. Though he was my father, George was often so busy if I was admitted into his presence once a week it was a miracle. He spent the majority of his time with advisors, my mother, and various courtiers; there was little time for his bastard daughters.

In fact, His Highness had little time or patience for his two legitimate heirs.

I sincerely pitied George and Caroline. The pair was cold and never acknowledged either me or my sisters, but I didn't expect them to when their father had set aside their mother in favor of his mistress.

His Majesty leaned against the mantel of my mother's fireplace and allowed his chubby fingers to caress the marble as he watched me from the corner of his eye. The early morning light illuminated the silver thread used to embroider his silk jacket. "Her ladyship has informed me you made a faux pas recently. You were alone for a brief period of time with Mister Beckett. Is this true, Lotte?"

Mother never ceased her embroidery, but I knew she was looking at me from beneath the coal black fringe dusting her eyebrows.

I nodded. "Yes, Highness, this is true."

He sighed. "I have spoken with Mister Beckett and he is very charmed by you. I believe you could do worse for a husband."

"What?" I was astonished. "Husband?"

His Majesty nodded. "Yes, Lotte. I have been searching for an appropriate spouse in whom I could be pleased and with whom I could secure an alliance which would benefit not only me, but my kingdoms as well."

"Benefit you?" I sputtered in horror. "What about a match which would provide some benefit to your daughter?!"

The Duchess smiled. "Child, there is ample advantage in a match with Mister Beckett. He can provide you with a vast fortune and he is, above all, a gentleman."

"Indeed," King George intoned gravely. "You are not beautiful, my dear, and he is interested in you despite this shortcoming. I do have good judgment in the character of men and Beckett is captivated by more than your relationship to me."

"How can you be so sure?"

His Majesty smiled. "Cutler Beckett inquired if I had made a match for you yet in Hanover." Satisfaction flooded my father's face. "When I admitted I had not; he asked permission to court you. Beckett also told me he wasn't interested in a dowry."

_**It couldn't be true! No man was interested in a woman without a dowry!**_

Mother flashed a crooked smile in my direction. "Mister Beckett is a rare man, do you not agree?"

"Perhaps," I gathered my courage and plowed ahead before reason could stop me. "Suppose Mister Beckett is only interested in me as a chess piece to move closer to you, Highness. Would not such a devious man be willing to forego a dowry?"

King George tilted his head in direction; his stormy eyes searching my face. "You are far too intelligent for your own good, Lotte." He heaved a great sigh before pushing himself away from the fireplace and slowly crossing the room. "Your reasoning is to be commended, but you have not heard the rest of Beckett's offer."

I remained quiet; my stomach clenching painfully.

"He has offered me fifty thousand pounds for your hand in matrimony."

The amount was absurd and my head was suddenly spinning.

No illegitimate girl, daughter of King George or not, was worth fifty thousand pounds. Mister Cutler Beckett was certainly smart enough to know that I would never sit on the throne of England, or Hanover, so he was up to something… I just couldn't think what his motivation might be.

His Majesty patted me on the shoulder and grinned broadly. "The girl is so amazed as to be struck dumb. I will arrange for Beckett to dine with us within a fortnight. I believe his secretary will contact your own, my dear, to organize a visit."

I could not speak.

* * *

My mother was cloaked in silence and attending to her needlepoint when the appointed day and hour had arrived. Rosaline led the unusually quiet Cutler Beckett into our sitting room. She curtsied deeply and returned to her place by the door.

"The Honorable Cutler Beckett."

Mother looked up from her needle work and smiled. "Thank you, Rosaline. Please bring some refreshments for Mister Beckett." She did not stand as was often customary. The dampness of the country had begun to cause her knees to ache. "Mister Beckett, it is a pleasure to see you again. Please do take a seat. I beg of you to excuse me, but my joints are not youthful as they once were."

The late afternoon light was rich and golden outside the windows; the sun having emerged from behind a curtain of misty clouds which had dominated the day. The roaring fire, hissing and spitting, on the hearth might have seemed frivolous to some, but it was genuinely needed by my mother.

I remained standing beside the floor to ceiling windows though I turned and acknowledged Beckett's presence with a simple curtsy.

He smiled briefly and removed his large hat before sitting. Adorned in chocolate-colored broadcloth with intricate designs of vines stitched carefully in golden thread, he looked every inch the gentleman. "Your Grace," he began quietly in German. "I am delighted to be admitted into your presence."

She laughed merrily. "You are very charming, Mister Beckett. I will speak English for the practice will do me good." Mother looked my way and gestured for me to come forward. "Charlotte, please take a seat my dear. You make me nervous lingering beside the window as though you intend to jump out at any moment."

I crossed the room and noticed, uncomfortably, that Beckett's eyes were glued to me. Suddenly, I felt rather underdressed in my modest spring green muslin gown with ivory lace trim. The dress was perfectly appropriate for the afternoon and seeing company. Why I should feel the way I did was a mystery to me.

"Mister Beckett, how pleasant to see you again." I sat in a small armchair a suitable distance from the settee he had chosen. I noted he was very masculine and looked slightly silly on the delicately scrolled, rose-colored piece of furniture. "I hope you have been well."

He placed his hat on the cushion beside him. "Indeed, I have been very well, Lady von der Schulenburg. I have recently returned from a visit to my parents. Business does not often leave time for such pleasures."

"A pity," I murmured.

Mother's bright blue eyes rose from the work she held and touched each of us in turn. "I believe we can dispense with such rigid formality since you have expressed serious interest in courting Charlotte. Do you not agree, Lotte?"

I shrugged.

"Lotte is rather shy, Cutler. Please forgive her reserved nature."

His brow inched up slightly. "As I recall on our stroll in the gardens, Charlotte, you had a great many opinions and were rather open in sharing them."

My face burned as my mother raised one brow and looked in my direction. "Is that so? You have always been so very quiet in the presence of gentlemen. Cutler, I do believe my daughter favors you after all."

"I should very much like to know if my attentions are displeasing to you, Charlotte." His eyes settled upon my face with great seriousness in their stormy depths. "You seem very different from the young lady I spoke with in the gardens."

My mother said nothing and continued on with her needle work as though she were deaf; I knew quite well that the opposite was true. My feelings and opinions had been sought after by relatively few. In fact, I had been raised to suppress them entirely. For a woman of good breeding, illegitimate or not, was not to voice her thoughts to any but her most intimate acquaintances.

I straightened in my chair and folded my hands in my lap. "I do not know you well enough, sir, to form an opinion of a contrary nature about you. I will admit that I have heard many fragments of gossip that paint less than a flattering picture of your character. Such reports do indeed give me pause."

Cutler rested his hands on his knees as he studied me; his expression contemplative. "Ah, here is the young lady I was first acquainted with. Gossip, dear girl, while at times informative, is most often gravely out of context." He smiled then and his eyes took on warmth. "I acknowledge that I am rather _severe_ in my business dealings and as such, I have made many enemies both here at court and abroad. I would ask you judge me on my own merit instead of through the blather of malicious guttersnipes."

Mother remained quiet, but I caught her eyes upon me.

"Very well, sir. I will be happy to speak with you at length on any subject you should desire."

He stood and began to pace; one arm held behind his back. "No, no, no… this simply will not due. I do not seek some sort of rag doll for my future spouse. I seek a woman of _spirit_ who can hold her own in a conversation with me." Cutler came to rest directly before me. "I want the girl I spoke with in the gardens – not some pale, washed out doppelgänger." He reached out and brushed his knuckles against my temple. "I will settle for nothing less but your true self, Charlotte."

_*Ahem*_

Cutler closed his eyes; a tick appeared in his jaw. He pulled his hand away and when he opened his eyes, he had the good grace to appear embarrassed. "I am very sorry, Your Grace." He returned to his seat across from me.

Mother stood and gathered her needle work. "I must have a word with Rosaline. I expect that you both will mind your manners until I return." She was gone before I could protest.

Beckett was staring at me. He never looked away from me; even when the door closed behind my mother. He sank back against the settee and rested one arm along the back as he watched me. "I am a very passionate man, Charlotte. I ask you forgive me for my boldness. Such an indiscretion should never have occurred."

"I believe you would be best served in finding a wife elsewhere, Mister Beckett." I stood and walked to the windows. "I am not passionate nor do I wish to be exposed to anyone who shows signs of being a reckless individual. Marriage is not something I am interested in. I would prefer to remain with my mother if at all possible and maintain some sense of autonomy."

I felt his warmth behind me before I caught his reflection in the glass. He was not two feet from my back. "I think under all that propriety you are quite passionate. I witnessed your own boldness in leaving the palace unescorted. Further proof was in that delightful tongue of yours when we spoke as I escorted you back." He reached out a pulled a curl loose from my hair at the nape of my neck; his fingers were burning as they brushed against my flesh. "You speak of wanting autonomy. What independence will you have under the thumb of your mother for the rest of your days? I can give you whatever you desire and a full measure of self-governance. I ask for very little in return."

"You ask for a great deal, I think."

Beckett released my hair and came to stand beside me. "I ask for you to honor me by becoming my wife. Of course, conceiving and bearing my children and entertaining my guests would be part and parcel of the agreement, but you would have ample freedoms that many upper class ladies are lacking." He turned his head and studied me. "I have no desire for a slave; a mindless, giggling fool who hides behind a fan. I wish for a wife who knows her own mind. I believe that lady to be you."

I glanced at him and instantly wished I had not. The sincerity in his expression was enough to melt ice. "You are being honest, I think." I nodded. "I am sorry I doubted you, Mister Beckett. I have heard many stories that perhaps were harsh in regards to your character."

Beckett smiled and took my hand; his thumb running gently over my knuckles. "You are wise to give credence to such tales. To disregard the word of many with no thought is ignorant. I only ask you allow me to show you my true nature. I believe this to be fair."

The door handle clicked alerting Beckett. He released my hand with a rueful smile and stepped a foot back from me as was proper. Mischief danced in his eyes and he winked at me. I could feel my face grow pink even as I laughed.

Mother had returned with Rosaline on her heels bearing a tray filled with dainties and a gilded teapot.

She smiled upon seeing us. "I trust you have both been on your best behavior."

Beckett left me and returned to mother's side. He took her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles before straightening. "Of course, Your Grace. Charlotte was just pointing out a few areas of the gardens she felt might interest me."

Mother arched one eyebrow. "I had no idea botany interested you, Cutler."

"To a certain extent it does," he replied. "My home here in town has a very fine kitchen garden. However, my estate in Wilshire has vast gardens that I constantly strive to improve. Since business keeps me in town, I have little chance to enjoy what my money has brought to fruition."

"Perhaps a family of your own might change this," Mother hinted shamelessly.

Cutler smiled. "I had a very similar thought."

Rosaline was laying out the service when a knock sounded on the door. She answered it and spoke quietly to whoever was outside before closing the door once again. "Mister Beckett, a gentleman called Mister Mercer has asked permission to speak with you."

Cutler frowned; his face awash in solemnity. "Please show him in." He looked at my mother and me with regret. "I do apologize for the interruption, ladies, but I fear the situation is dire if Mister Mercer felt the need to speak with me."

Mother merely gave him a nod before sinking into her chair beside the fire.

I remained rooted to my spot near the windows.

Mister Mercer entered. He was again dressed in all black; his clothing proper but not nearly as fine as those worn by Cutler Beckett. He removed his hat and bowed to each of us in turn before standing. "I beg your pardon for the interruption. Mister Beckett, your father asked me to fetch you quickly, sir."

Beckett's brow rose. "Did he indicate the nature of the emergency?"

Mercer looked uncomfortable. "Seems yer brother, Lord Thomas, has seen fit to take up a duel with Jean-Pierre de Carillon for a reason I'm not to disclose to anyone but you, sir. Carillon is a crack shot."

A muscle worked in Cutler's jaw. "I'm quite aware of what Carillon can do." Cutler turned to us and gave a proper, short bow before snatching up his hat. "My sincere apologies, ladies, but I must go at once. I hope we may continue our charming conversation at another time."

Mother inclined her head. "Indeed, Cutler. I will pray for your brother. The Comte de Carillon is a merciless, petty tyrant."

I gave a soft nod, but otherwise remained silent.

Cutler marched from the room on Mercer's heels as though the devil were after him.

The moment Rosaline closed the doors, my mother sighed deeply. "Poor Mister Beckett and his family. I grieve for them."

"Why, mother?"

She looked up at me with softness in her face that most people were never allowed to see. "The Comte de Carillon has dueled with seven men both here and in France. Carillon has killed each of his opponents. Lord Thomas Beckett, I fear, will be number eight unless Cutler can intervene in time. Most men are fools and prefer to die rather than lose face. Poor Cutler, we should pray for him."

And pray we did – three hours on our knees so that Rosaline and I had to help mother stand.

No word was received that night. The next day a note was sent to mother from Mister Beckett that he would not be able to call again for several weeks as his elder brother, Lord Thomas, had dueled Carillon and died two hours after receiving a lead ball to the chest.


End file.
